


Promiscuous Boy

by Finholdt



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Super Sons (Comics), Superman (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Damian undercover as a stripper, Damijon - Freeform, Jon is a cinnamon bun who was NOT prepared, Jondami, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 09:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23469298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finholdt/pseuds/Finholdt
Summary: promiscuous boy you're teasing meyou know what i wantand i got what you needJon was not expectig the turn his Tuesday night would take when Damian, once again, broke into his school and called him to a mission. But above all of this, he /really/ wasn't expecting to see his best friend wearing nothing but a golden brief while he danced on stage.[Damian's 19 & Jon's 16]
Relationships: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne
Comments: 12
Kudos: 202





	Promiscuous Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Have you ever watched that scene in Smallville where Lois and Clark are undercover at a strip club but none knows the other is there?  
> Yeah.  
> That.

Honestly, Jon wouldn’t even know where to start while he’s absorbing what’s going on.

He had to concentrate hard to remember why the hell he was there, but he found himself having trouble to concentrate while he watched Damian wearing nothing but golden swimming briefs that practically blinded him, in a dark and suffocating environment with an worrying amount of cigarette smoke. Not to mention the loud music, which was proving to be a real ordeal for his super-hearing.

 _Context._ Context, he needs to provide context for his wandering thoughts.

Sincerely, this was not the direction Jon thought his Tuesday night would take when Damian broke into his school _again_ that morning...

[...]

“You need to stop pretending being one of my teachers! Jeez!”

Jon had suspected that his substitute English teacher might be Damian when he started quoting Russian literature in comparison to the classics and mocked Shakespeare until he brought one of the girls to tears. As soon as the bell rang, Jon called “Mr. West” while gritting his teeth to talk about a specific book that Jon “had some questions about”. The bastard didn't even seem to be embarrassed, simply taking off the ridiculous makeup while Jon scolded him.

“Oh, please, we both know that I know much more than any of your mediocre high school teachers.”

Thank goodness that the room for Mr. Madison, _the real English teacher_ , was empty. Jon didn’t even want to know what Damian did to get rid of his teacher and get in the school passing as a convenient substitute. Frankly, did this school even have the slightest sense of _security_?!

“I’m not even going to reply to that because that’s still _extremely wrong_?!”

Jon suspected that Damian was missing being in a classroom, as it was the only explanation for why a 19-year-old guy would insist in coming back to the only place every self-respecting teenager dreamed of getting away.

“Details,” Damian waved his hand, dismissing further commentary. “I needed to talk to you and apparently farmers have a problem with _answering the phone_.”

“But I’m at school,” Jon retorted, perplexed that he had to explain it. “I can’t use my phone during class.”

Damian said nothing for concrete five seconds, simply staring at him with a blank expression.

“You are unreal.”

Jon wasn’t sure if he should feel insulted with the comment, but Damian gave him no time to decide, as he soon continued to speak:

“Anyway, I tracked down one of the smaller families inside the Malones and they’re going to have a meeting tonight. It’s definitely going to be about selling that new drug we’ve been investigating, so we _need_ to be there!”

 _But I have class tomorrow_ , was Jon’s first thought, who wisely didn’t voice it out loud. Looking around again to make sure they were alone, he asked:

“Alright… And where is this going to take place? In an abandoned and deserted office?”

“Of course not,” Damian looked at him as though Jon were crazy. “This kind of meeting must happen somewhere discreet, where no one would suspect about this type of conversation taking place.”

His throat itched with the urge to point out that Jon's suggestions fell perfectly into that category, but he controlled himself. He knew that the more he provoked Damian, the longer Damian’d take to leave him alone and Jon _really_ had to go to the chemistry class that was starting in ten minutes. And _no way_ that Jon would let Damian pretend to be his chemistry teacher too just so they could talk longer. 

Jon adores his friend, really, but the guy can be a true ordeal when he wants to.

“So, where?”

“It’ll be in a mixed strip club here in Metropolis. There’s only one of those, so getting the address was easy. I wasn’t able to discover the time, so just in case, we’ll need to stay there the whole night.”

In a strip club? On a _Tuesday_? No. Way.

“ _There’s so many things wrong about this that I don’t even know where to start_ ,” Jon hissed, astonished. “But I’ll try: we’re minors - we’d never be able to get in. And Super _boy_ and Robin would never be able to get around completely unnoticed!”

Damian opened his mouth to talk back, but Jon wasn’t finished yet:

“Not to mention that it’s a strip club! Must I remind you that I’m sixteen years old? My parents would never let me go to such a place! Not even for a mission! My dad would rather take over our investigation than him even letting me breathe there!”

The friend rolled his eyes, letting out his famous “tt”, and he was ready to speak when Jon continued with his arguments:

“And today’s a tuesday! I’ve got class tomorrow morning and a test on the first period, which only serves as proof that _I can’t, not today_.”

“Unbelievable. Jon, _come on_ , do you _really_ need to follow the rules all the time? It was kinda cute at first, but not when it gets in the way of _our mission_!”

Ignoring the backwards compliment, Jon kept himself inflexible.

“Kent. Jon. Come on,” Damian was starting to look perplexed. “I need you; I have our disguises ready and everything. I’ll enter as Damian Wayne and you’re going to be my bodyguard, no one’s going to suspect a thing about your baby face! My face is too recognizable, so I’m going to attract all the focus to myself while you discreetly go to their table and collect the information and proof! Besides, you’re pretty crucial considering that you’re the only one of us with super-hearing.”

An ingenious plan, truly, Jon would give him that much credit, however…

“I’m sorry, Damian. You’re going to have to do this without me.”

And Jon was truly sorry! However, rules are rules and Lois was already keeping an eye on him ever since that incident about escaping to another timeline, growing up far too early and coming back only months later with his actual biological age. _Go figure._

Damian pursed his lips in frustration, and Jon predicted that his friend would continue to insist until he relented, which he would _not_. Then he quickly said goodbye to his friend and ran to class, hoping the message was loud and clear and that Damian shouldn’t insist.

 _Hah_ , Jon thought bitterly as he adjusted his glasses, _who am I kidding?_

[...]

Oddly enough, Damian respected Jon’s wishes and didn’t talk about it anymore. “Mr. West” just left mysteriously, which was great. And weird.

Jon suspected Damian should have gone after one of his brothers or any of the Teen Titans to assist him and he was fine with that. It's not like their partnership is exclusive or something. They weren't like Apollo and Midnighter and... Wait. _Wait,_ that was a terrible analogy and Jon doesn't even know why he even thought about it.

Anyway, it was all just strictly professional curiosity over who Damian's new partner would be - because Jon knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't wait for him to be available to go after a clue - that made him call the Titan Tower and casually ask if Damian had shown up there.

It was Beast Boy who answered the call and he sounded irritatingly smug when he said _no, the little devil didn't show up today, thank GOD_.

Okay, okay, Damian had other friends besides the Titans. Jon wasn't going to spend his day thinking about it anymore, he had more important things to do, like _studying!_

But when the clock chimed 8 P.M, Jon. Started to wander. Just a little.

It wouldn’t be an issue to just show up disguised, right? Just for a little while, he didn’t need to stay there _all night_. It was just to check if everything’s going fine. Damian probably wouldn’t even notice him. _Just a little..._

“Mom-I-got-an-investigation-be-back-soon-love-you-bye!”

Without thinking about it any further, Jon grabbed his suit that his parents bought for the winter dance and sprinted out of the front door, without giving his mother the chance to discuss or ask for more details.

That was a terrible idea.

[...]

Having kryptonian genes comes with many advantages. Being extremely tall and muscular was one of them. The people at the club didn’t even ask for Jon’s ID when he entered, trembling. This was something to check out later, but one thing at a time.

Sitting at the first available table that he saw, Jon nervously glanced around, trying to find the mobsters and/or Damian.

To say that he was uncomfortable was an understatement. He had already regretted going there and was quietly scolding himself when a waitress wearing a sexy bunny costume stopped by his table and asked, in a voice so indecent that Jon felt lightly violated, if he wanted something.

“Uh,” he replied, poignant. “Coke.”

The waitress looked at him weirdly. Oops!

Deepening his voice and contracting his face into a frown that he hoped to appear adult enough, he added: “Straight on the rocks.”

Bunny girl raised her brows and walked away, murmuring something about alcoholics.

Great, not even two minutes passed since he got here, and Jon was mortified already.

Could it get any worse?

Jon took a deep breath and, not trying to give bad luck a chance, started to pay attention to each table’s conversation. As it was a mixed club, there were both men and women scattered across the area, which left Jon appalled. It was Tuesday! Didn’t these people have any job?

Two tables were there celebrating birthdays, three for bachelor’s parties and five were only nonchalant people that wanted to see cute faces half-naked.

Jon looked around, paying attention to any kind of conversation that seemed to involve drugs or _business_.

Suddenly, the lights got even darker, giving focus only to the colored ones. A spotlight turned toward the stage and Jon sighed, resigned. Nothing yet, and since he was there, at least he's going to watch the show. If it got too late, he could simply leave with the clear conscience that at least he tried.

His drink had arrived right when the curtains opened and the ladies started screaming right away, which made Jon cringe at the noise. His super-hearing was focused on a table with only women.

With his ears ringing, Jon turned his eyes to the stage, unable to hear the music playing as a tall man walked slowly to the front. He sipped the coke while watching him. He was dressed in a light open shirt and jeans. His face was covered with golden glitter, like a mask that ran down his body in waves. The gold stood out well against the dancer's olive skin. Jon made an appreciative sound and paid more attention, the fast rhythm of the music ringing in his ears a bit.

The dancer tore his shirt open all at once, a signal for fake hundred-dollar bills to rain down on him. Some whistles and screams from the other male tables. Unaffected, the dancer threw the shirt he was previously wearing away.

Keeping up with the rhythm of the music, the dancer began to wave his body, in a slender movement that started at his shoulders and ran down his torso to his hips. Jon felt all the blood in his body roaring in his ears, the place getting irritatingly hot.

Jon started to look away from the stage and towards the people who shouted and applauded, trying to focus again on his previous goal, but his gaze always returned to the dancer, who now unbuttoned his jeans while shaking his hips in an extremely indecent rhythm.

Desperate not to stare right at the dancer’s attributes, Jon started to look at his face. Behind all the glitter, there were bright green eyes. On a second thought, those eyes looked quite familiar-

_No._

His mind rejected what he was watching right away.

But it couldn’t be. No way, right? No way _in hell_.

Damian lived to surprise, didn’t he?

Mortified beyond reason, Jon began to cover his face with one hand, praying to go unnoticed. Praying for the ground to open and swallow him down. Now, he wasn’t simply embarrassed as if he were watching just a faceless dancer. No, now he was feeling so much secondhand embarrassment that he was willing to fly away immediately.

_I’m not gonna look._

Except he looked.

And looked away.

And looked again.

Jon could only conclude that he wasn’t being as subtle as he thought, because Damian’s gaze soon fell on him. Any observer from the outside could pinpoint the exact second that Damian recognized his friend because it was just as he ran his hands over his body in an intense body roll. Poor Damian froze in the middle of the dance, his hands still on the golden briefs that shone so brightly, Jon feared he might go blind.

The dance, which was so fluid before, became rigid and tense. Fortunately, the crowd wasn’t bothered, as they continued to shout and whistle.

Then, the worst thing that could happen, happened.

Damian came down from the stage and practically paraded to where Jon was, his gaze resolute on his painted face. Jon shifted uncomfortably with his suit, his tie, his own skin. _Why, God, why is he coming here?!_

He still tried to look anywhere else instead of Damian, but his eyes always fell back on him.

“What the hell are you doing here” Damian didn’t ask, he demanded.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Jon retorted, fiercely trying to keep his stare away from his friend’s shiny pectorals.

“You told me you weren’t coming!” he hissed, furious. “I had to find another disguise; I was lucky that one of the dancers was too busy fucking one of the clients to perform.”

Words. Words that Jon _didn’t_ want to hear from Damian, especially while he was wearing _this_.

He opened his mouth to answer but stopped. Damian looked over his head and then stared back at Jon, forcing a smile.

Then he straddled him.

Jon tried to back away as if Damian's body was on fire, desperately moving his head everywhere so he wouldn't have to look at... _that_.

“Be quiet, Kent, or else you’re going to get me fired. At least pretend you’re enjoying it.”

“I-”

Then Damian gave one of his smooth sways right on Jon’s lap, and he lost the ability to speak.

“Listen,” he whispered quietly as he continued dancing. His multitasking skills truly were something to admire, because Jon certainly forgot how to breathe too. “When I was hanging around the perimeter, I overheard some conversations. Our target has a VIP room here, where he keeps the drugs, the docs, everything. He always takes a dancer there to seduce after every show, so as soon as I get up from your lap, you’re going to pretend that you’re going to the bathroom and you’ll use that x-ray vision of yours to find the safe. Meanwhile, I’ll seduce the asshole.” And with a final sway, he added: “Now give me twenty bucks.”

Desperate to get rid of that shameful torture, Jon took a rolled bill from his pocket and tried to hand it to him. Damian rolled his eyes and pointed with his head at his groin.

_Oh._

Jon felt like he was having an astral experience. The body that stuffed the money into Damian's briefs was not his, not really. This was a horrible kind of nightmare and soon Jon would wake up in his bed, relieved.

Unfortunately, he was wide awake at this moment.

Satisfied, Damian stood up and turned his back on him, swaying after the _reason they were there_. As a farewell, he spoke low enough for only someone with Kryptonian hearing be able to hear _don't take too long, or I'll have to do something unfortunate._

It was only after Damian was several tables away that Jon managed to normalize his breathing. He took a deep breath and told himself that _it’s just a physiological reaction, it means nothing, absolutely nothing. Come on, think. Beast Boy in underwear. Darkside burping. Batman smiling._

A few minutes later, when Jon was sure he wouldn’t end up humiliating himself even further, he got up, left some bills to pay for the coke, and went to follow the instructions his partner left for him.

[...]

It was only later, when the fight was over and Damian looked happily at the paperwork containing all the names of the clients and suppliers, that he told him that he saw the target arriving at the club while he was dancing on top of Jon.

Jon went stiff, waves of shame hitting him almost physically as he remembered that. It was surprising that Damian was still paying attention to his surroundings while he danced like _that_ on top of someone, because Jon, even with all his powers, could barely breathe.

“I think I’m traumatized for the rest of my life,” Jon confessed. “I’ll never be able to see you fighting the same way again.”

Watching Damian throwing kicks and punches while wearing nothing but golden briefs and having glitter on his body was something that Jon wouldn’t forget so easily.

Damian frowned, squeezing the documents. But it was hard to take him seriously when he was barely dressed.

“This night never happened. _Never._ You’re not going to talk about it, not going to _comment_ on it. Or I’ll make you regret it!”

Relieved that at least some of the normality in their dynamics was back, Jon smiled, mocklingly.

“Oh, really? And whatcha gonna do, shorty?”

Damian narrowed his eyes. Jon _knew_ that he was bluffing, that was so typical-

“For a start, how about we talk about that thing I felt on my thigh, huh? Did you have a kryptonite on your pocket or were you just happy to see me, farmer?”

“Nope. No. Nopety nopety no! I’m not listening. Pocket? What pocket? There’s no pocket in my pajamas, after all I’m at home, keeping myself busy with Chemistry. I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh. That’s what I thought.”

Needless to say, they both went home after calling the police and _really_ pretended that nothing had happened.

_Yeah, right._

**Author's Note:**

> oh and the art was from a comission I requested for a friend of mine, you can check it out on my tumblr loli-voice.tumblr.com or my twitter @jonslilaceyes  
> Come scream at me about DC and damijon anytime you want!


End file.
